


lonely this christmas

by westminster



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Christmas fic, Fluff, M/M, MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE, Secret Santa, Stony - Freeform, Teachers AU, really just an excuse to put hundreds of xmas references in a fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-05 19:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16816792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westminster/pseuds/westminster
Summary: Mr Stark: badass IT teacher and every male student's idol at Merton High School. Mr 'Call-me-Steve' Rogers: clumsy art teacher who's just trying his best and it's hard ok to teach children to draw when they've only took the course to stare at his abs. Steve hates Tony, he's loud-mouthed, obnoxious and steals his espresso shots. Tony's just trying his best to stay awake. That is, until, Steve's finally goaded into this year's secret santa - and consolidates his belief that the universe hates him when he pulls Tony's name out.





	1. pipes of peace

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea since February so it's been in the works for a long while and I'm very thankful to finally be able to start posting chapters! This fic is set in an American school, but I'm British so if I get a few things wrong about the American education system, I'm extremely sorry.

Titian's masterpiece, Venus of Urbino, fills the screen. There are a few giggles at the back of the classroom - Steve accepted that there was no painting in existence that this God-forsaken class wouldn't laugh at. 14 year olds and renaissance breasts did not go well together, he'd decided a long time ago. He stared into the sea of children: mostly female, completely uninterested in art unless it involved Steve doing some nude modelling. (He'd been asked more times than he could count but was still left speechless every time.)

There was no hope for them. He hated himself for thinking it - the idea perfectly juxtaposing with the poster besides him that read _'all of your dreams can come true if you have the courage to achieve them.'_ The dreams of this classroom were confined to appearing on Dr. Phil and getting various parts of their body signed by whatever boy band was currently relevant. At least they had them, he thought solemnly. He wasn't sure what had led him to this place; he'd always longed to give lectures in some grand English university, with archaic halls and aesthetic dusty bookshelves, lit only by candlelight. Instead, he was stuck in a career vacuum at Merton, praying for something else to come along. He just wished he knew what that something else was.

"Please! Calm down! We've been doing 16th century paintings for four months now - we've all seen Titian's breasts before...” He chose to ignore Paige Tupman's whisper of, "he can see _my_ breasts anytime." If only they knew that they'd have more chance at sleeping with him without them, he mused. Practically shouting over the laughter and gossip, Steve launched into a speech about the painting, speaking with a great passion and grandeur. The class still refused to pay attention. He was on the cusp of making a declaration about the sheer depths of the painting when the door slammed open and he was cut off by the sound of someone whistling 'I'm Too Sexy' by Right Said Fred. There was only one person that could enter his classroom with that level of arrogance.

"Mr. Stark," he began, through gritted teeth, "How can I be of service?"

"You, sweetcheeks, can stay there and entertain the class with what I'm sure are _extremely_ inspiring speeches on naked women. Meanwhile I am about to stride across the classroom, steal some art supplies, whilst you ignore my existence." 

Steve was by no means an angry man. He'd only ever been in a fight once before, in 7th Grade when Matthew Sanderson stole the new kid's lunch money. He'd left with a black eye and a split lip, vowing that words were a much better way to solve problems. He'd found that this was generally a good rule for life, except when it came to Tony Stark. Stark was an anomaly - witty and ill-mannered, he always had a clever retort to Steve, making him feel like a complete fool for trying to do the right thing. So he let Tony go on with himself, carry out his little performance, letting the class berate Steve with his stupid jokes. 

Instead of apologising, or even exchanging pleasantries, Stark left the room grinning and pointing finger guns at Steve, paintbrush clutched in between his teeth. 

There was no hope for this class, just like there was no hope for Tony Stark. 

***

A strong stench of black coffee. Teachers on the verge of insomnia. Stacks and stacks of exam papers. A computer that freezes if you leave it for a minute. The teacher’s lounge is void of any humanity. 

Steve sat deliberately in the back, near the toilets so that no one disturbed him. He sat with his legs crossed on the chair, trying to get his head around why on Earth Peter Heath was suggesting that Michael Angelo sculpting “small penises” was proof that he was “obviously gay.” _Well, I've got to give him points for effort._ _He’s the only person in the class who wrote more than half a page._

Just as he was on the verge of scraping his eyeballs out with a spoon, Natasha flopped down next to him, spreading her limbs dramatically across the seats, taking up three times the space Steve had. 

She locked eyes with him and without pausing she declared, “You're doing the Secret Santa this year. And I _will_ find a way to rig it so I can get you.” 

“No.” 

Every year there was someone in this school who dared to ask Steve to partake in the annual Secret Santa event, and every year he bored them to death with a list of reasons as to why that was the worst idea to exist. He was just about to start his cleverly rehearsed speech when Natasha clasped her hands around his mouth. 

“Don’t start. It’s a long story that involves alcohol, illegal Mexican tomatoes and my insane judo skills. But the point here is that the new Math teacher has already put me down for the Secret Santa and there’s apparently no amount of flirting with Liam from IT that can change it. So, naturally, I signed you up and got Tony to rig the system so that I get your name.” 

“Tony?” was the only thing he could say.

Natasha raised her eyebrows, mumbling something about a favour being owed and how Stark was ‘generally reliable’ before leaving the room.

“Fuck,” said Steve, who had previously promised to never swear again. 

*** 

He was finally making progress on his most recent sketch of an old statue he’d seen at the local museum, delicately shading the edges of the Greek warrior’s nose. In fact, he was so engrossed in his work, he wasn’t aware of Daisy Simmons until she cleared her throat, making a high-pitched squeal that pained him to hear. She leaned deliberately slowly over the table, ensuring that Steve took note of the fact that the top two buttons on her shirt were undone, handing over an envelope.

“It’s your Secret Santa, Sir,” she said with a wink. Steve tried not to grimace, letting out a deep sigh of relief when the girl finally left. 

Better to get it over with, he thought whilst playing with the folds of the envelope. He hoped it was someone easy to buy for, but could not think of a single member of staff whom he had a good idea for a gift. Steve kept himself to himself, and couldn’t even name half the faculty here. Deep breaths, just open it. Like that. Yes, now take the paper out. Unfold it... 

Steve quickly decided that he would never look at Natasha again. 

There, in comic sans, was the name Tony Stark. IT Teacher. Room E3. 

He wondered whether or not he'd forget that this mess ever happened if he hit his head hard enough against the desk.


	2. step into christmas

Steve had spent the previous three days convincing himself to resign just so he didn't have to get Tony a gift. Sure, he could do what every other member of staff did and revert to cheap gift sets and cologne, but he knew he'd never hear the end of it if he did. A guy like Tony wanted the moon and nothing less, he could practically hear the taunts of his class already. There was, of course, the nagging hope that if he did succeed in pleasing Tony with a gift, he might be free of him forever. Gain his approval and Tony will respect him: he prayed it was as simple as that.

He stole a glance at the time, adjacent to him was a cheap recreation of one of Dali’s melting clocks. 4:00pm. He’d been sat here since school ended at 2:45, a list in front of him primed to be filled in, with ‘present ideas for stark’ scrawled at the top. Over an hour and he was no further to finding an answer. He realised about ten minutes in that he had to do _something_ whilst deliberating, and started drawing various Christmas themed items, reflecting the fact that the school had finally put up their Christmas decorations. But slowly they became little doodles of Tony. He couldn’t draw a Santa hat without sketching Tony wearing it, couldn’t begin to draw mugs of eggnog without Tony's nimble fingers around it. A simple snowflake became a winter scene with Stark at the very centre of it.

God, he needed a coffee. 

*** 

He kept his espresso shots in a separate box in the cupboard, for emergency use only. Steve was much more of a cocoa person, and made sure the school’s stock of cocoa powder was always replenished. To Steve, coffee represented desperation and fatigue, things he rarely felt unless Stark was present. Digging around, past the decades old watercolors, his hands finally grasped the object of his intent. He could almost feel the hot coffee in the back of this throat. 

Flipping the box open quickly, he poised himself ready to retrieve the goods. Instead, Steve nearly scraped his eyeballs out when he found the box empty, exempt from a post-it note at the bottom. 

_sorry - TS_

Steve thought he was going to burst, practically running through the corridors to Tony’s room, barging in without his usual pleasantries. 

He stopped. 

Steve had been so ready to yell at Tony, to shout out all of those words he’d prepared on the way over, to completely remove any possibility of an amicable relationship between the two. Instead, he was left speechless by the sight in front of him.

Tony, midway through singing ‘Merry Christmas, Everyone’, tinsel dripping from every inch of his body as he shook his way around the room. There was chaos littered around him - multicoloured baubles overflowing from cardboard boxes, a tree that looked like it was about to topple over at any opportunity. 

Steve was genuinely lost for words. That gorgeously perfected argument disappeared with one glance at Tony. Tony looked back, expectantly. 

The scene in front of him was everything he remembered about Christmas growing up. Him, his Ma and Bucky all decorating the tree together - his dog running circles around them all, tinsel in his mouth. The memory of them, the realisation of all that he’d lost weighed down on him suddenly. All he could do was stare at Tony, and will himself not to become teary-eyed. 

The tension between the two men stretched out like taffy, each of them refusing to break eye contact. The song had ended, and the room was plunged into a vacuous silence. 

Steve bowed his head, cheeks blushing slightly: a bold contrast to how he entered the room. Finally, he said, “Do you need any help?” 

The huge grin that grew on Tony’s face answered the question. He hooked his thumbs in his belt and raised his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Come on Rogers, with those muscles we’ll get the decorations up in no time.” 

***

“If this is how you decorate your classroom, I dread to think what your house looks like.”

In the twenty minutes they’d been working together, some order had been restored to the room. There was festive garland around all the computers and Tony had forced Steve to hang bunting from the ceiling. They stood, admiring their handiwork, the cups of coffee in their hands were surprisingly not Steve's. The speakers on Tony's desk now played 'Lonely This Christmas' at a quiet volume, and the solemn tone of it dampened the festiveness of their surroundings.

“It looks empty, mostly," Tony replied, "What’s the point in decorating the thing I call a home when they're no one there to admire my superior decorating skills. Here, it matters. It brightens the kids days a little, y'know. Wouldn't do much in my house."

Tony smiled, though Steve noticed it didn't reach his eyes. Seeing Tony show some vulnerability made him inexplicably sad and he placed his arm on Tony's as a sign of support. 

"Nobody?"

"Nobody."

"I get it, same here. I guess I assumed you'd have _somebody_ considering how you appear."

And just like that, any signs of emotion disappeared instantly. As quick as a flash, it was replaced with a smirk and a wink at Steve, wiggling his eyebrows as he whispered in Steve's ear, "interesting way to call me sexy, Steve. Didn't know I was your type - I might have to buy some mistletoe to complete the room."

Steve sighed. Yes, there it was, his hatred for Tony Stark had returned. 

However, he slept with his notepad next to him and the list of Secret Santa ideas now had one completed bullet point: _coffee machine?_


	3. mistletoe & wine

Steve was quick to take up a new hobby: observing Tony. He’d wasted so much time, he realized, assuming that Tony was awful through and through. When Natasha found out, she berated him for being a stalker, but Steve preferred the term _‘admiring from a distance’_. It wasn’t creepy if it was for a Secret Santa present, right? After all, Steve was sure that he had good intentions.

Throughout December, Steve’s list had grown bigger and bigger. In the mornings, he would catch Tony walking into school, shivering in his thin cotton sweater and using what Steve hoped weren't textbooks to shield him from the rain. The words _'Umbrella? Coat?'_ appeared on the list. Similarly, when he made his way out of the building in the evenings, he'd cast a glace at Tony as he passed his room. The majority of the time, he was tinkering with things Steve couldn't even being to describe - balls of wire, technological appliances, a pile that looked like there had been an altercation between baseball bat and a computer. Steve scribbled _'gloves?'_ as Tony waved at him, grease dripping from his hands.

However, as he contemplated his completed page, none of the ideas jumped out at him. They simply seemed banal, and banal was something nobody would dare associate with Tony. Steve's calendar had a big red circle around the 23rd of December: the day Merton broke up for Christmas. Three days. He had three days to get Tony a gift and he'd accepted that there was no hope for him. In a moment of what Steve would later describe as pure insanity, he took out his phone that looked like it was from another era entirely, due to Steve's hatred of technology. He scrolled through his contacts, trying frantically to find Tony's number before his brain had a chance to catch up and put a stop to this madness. He sent the message: _'would you like to grab coffee before school tomorrow?? i can help with those essays you need grading.'_ He stepped away from the desk and took a deep breath. God, he hoped Tony wouldn't be take this the wrong way. Was there a wrong way? Steve was just inviting him for coffee, right? That's what friends did, surely? Did he even consider Tony a friend? And more importantly, did Tony consider him to be one? Steve didn't have time to lament over the tone of his text because his phone chimed mere seconds later. His stomach churned as he flipped his phone over. 

The feeling reminded him of sixth grade, when Bucky had asked out Maria Copeland on his behalf. Steve had hidden under his bed, feeling like he was about to vomit as he anticipated Bucky's return. 

But Maria Copeland was a long time ago; all that was in his past now. Tony was certainly no Maria, and he ignored the similarities in his feelings towards them both. Discarding his thoughts, he felt the unwelcome anxiety build up as he opened his phone.

_who is this?_

Steve nearly screamed at his own stupidity. Given their past, they'd never actually spoke over text messages before - Steve would have committed murder if someone had given Tony Stark his phone number. Despite this, he'd always kept Tony's number in his phone: the contact information for all the staff was available on the system the school used to log registration and detentions for students. When Steve first started at Merton, he was motivated and highly-organized, making sure he had some form of contact for everyone who worked in the building, including the cleaners. Steve had definitely changed since then, and the fact that he'd lost that ambition along the way left a sharp pang of guilt in the deep pits of his stomach.

**steve rogers. art teacher. master christmas tree decorator. my talents are endless**

_you've just been demoted to deputy tree decorator. don't you have your own essays to mark?_

**finished them a week ago. like i said, my talents are endless.**

**jk. i'm just a competent teacher.**

_you're lucky i like my men with a sense of humor. ;) send me the address. i'll meet you there at 6:30. you're paying._

Steve's eyes twinkled with pleasure as he fist pumped the air. He was slightly taken aback by his own actions, and how uncharacteristic this was of him. Steve was uncomfortable with himself - why did he feel like he'd achieved a fabulous victory when all he'd really secured was a bill for Tony's coffee? He began to massage his temples in a hopeless attempt to remove the images of Tony that had begun to dance around in his head.


	4. stop the cavalry

Steve was sat against his front door, jingling house keys in front of his face, like a cat. He hadn’t slept much the night before, mostly due to the nervous feeling flying around his stomach. For the first time in a long time, he woke up hours before his alarm was set to go off.

4:00am. Steve had _way_ too much time to kill. He’d even planned on being late to his and Tony’s coffee-date-that-wasn’t-really-a-date-because-they-were-definitely-just friends. He was certain that Tony would be extremely behind schedule too, (just like he was for every other meeting) and Steve didn’t want to risk the embarrassment of sitting in a coffee shop for hours, as an underpaid waitress stared at him with pity. He’d been in that situation more times than he’d care to reveal.

This morning though, he could not have been more prepared for a day of work in his life - the set of colored pens in his bag were organised by their order in the rainbow, he had symmetrically packed his lunch three times and reorganised his pockets at least a dozen more. Sitting on the cold wooden floor, Steve could feel his limbs being to ache as he mentally crossed off every task on his list. Everything was complete. Still half an hour until he was due to set off.

As he listened to the monotonous _tick-tock-tick_ of his clock, something within him snapped. He stood up as quickly as possible, putting his satchel on his shoulders with such vigour that he nearly knocked over a plant pot. No longer caring about arriving unusually early, Steve just wanted those butterflies in his belly to cease their infernal flying as he strode out of the door. He doesn’t know why he’s been rendering in this state by Tony. There is only one thing he is certain of: he does not feel anything for Tony Stark. 

***

It’s colder outside than he’d calculated and he breathes a sigh of relief as the warmth of the café hits him. Luckily, there’s no queue and the barista recognized him instantly: he’s a regular at the place, and Lucy has his cappuccino ready before he's even approached the counter. She stares at him with big doe eyes, giving him a sultry smile as she hands over the coffee cup. Steve mutters a word thanks and crams himself into the nearest seat. He'd have paid more attention to the girl's advances if she wasn't a past pupil of his, and a failed one at that, he acquiesces.

He sipped his coffee whilst staring out of the window at the passers-by, resolute in the knowledge that Tony would not appear amongst them for a long time when he the same man's voice from across the café.

“Rogers! Hey! Steve Rogers! Over here!” 

Steve made an apologetic face as the rest of the customers turned to look at him with disgust. Feeling the shame rise in him, he blushed as he made his way to the back of the café, sliding into the seat opposite Tony.

Unable to meet Tony’s eyes, he focused on the other man’s hands - the thick lines, the unintelligible scribbles on the back, the dark splodges that covered his fingers. 

“I, umm- I didn’t take you as a morning person, Stark,” Steve mumbled, trying to remove the awkwardness of the conversation.

Tony took this as an invitation to lead the conversation, and launched into a big speech about the many, many times he’d been late to work because he’d stayed up until ridiculous hours on his hobby - mechanics. He told Steve how last night was similar, and confessed that he’d broken some expensive computer parts because he was too busy thinking about this morning. Steve wondered if Tony felt as nervous as he did about the whole thing, but dismissed it straight away - after all, nerves were a very un-Tony thing to feel. 

Steve merely sat there smiling at Tony like a Golden Retriever at their owner, mesmerized by the elegant way Tony spoke when there were no sexual innuendos to hide behind. They slipped into a smooth conversation, and Steve found himself feeling increasingly attracted towards the man he had resented mere days ago. When the conversation came to a lull and Steve was searching for something to say, he spluttered out the first thing that came to mind:

"In a past life you could've been an artist's model," he says quickly, tripping over the words. For what might have been the hundredth time that morning, Steve felt him going bright red over his words, and wasn't the only one to do so at the table. He didn't think Tony was physically capable of blushing but the evidence sat right in front of him. He tried to correct his subconscious and abysmal attempt at flirting, wrapping his hands around the coffee cup with such fervor that it crumbled beneath his grip.

"I didn't mean- No, what I meant to say is well, you have the bone structure for it. And your eyes, they're so expressive - a painter's dream really. It's not just your eyes that are expressive though, that's what I love about you," Steve knows that the more he speaks, the deeper the hole he's dug himself is getting but the words still tumble out of his mouth, "every inch of your body tells me something about you, from the callouses on your palms to a grin that could rival the Mona Lisa's. Even in your dimly lit classroom, the light and dark contours of your body contrast each other in harmony, creating a masterpiece. Um- This is speaking as an artist, of course. Nothing more."

Tony is left speechless for a few moments, which is an incredible fact in itself. Then he opens his mouth to whisper, " _Nothing_ more? Are you sure?"

Their mutual attraction became an underlying tension in the room, as both men searched for something to say to fill the void. Tony leans forward, both of them now too aware of how little space there is between the two, and how neither of them can seem to break eye contact. It's Tony that makes the first move, placing his hand over Steve's. In response, Steve flinches, startled by the sudden contact and ends up knocking his teacup off the table, and it lands with a shatter on the floor. Both of them jump up instantly, eyes turning to the underpaid girl at the register and apologizing profusely for the mess they've made. Steve goes the step further, snatching the broom out of the girl's hand and beginning to sweep up the smashed teacup himself. 

Once the café has been returned to it's normal state, Steve, as requested, pays for both of their orders, apologizing once more for good measure. Him and Tony stand in the doorway, and Steve feels a familiar pull towards the other man, leaning into him as he frantically tries to pull his gloves on.

Tony looks up at him, through lashes that are so long that Steve's sure he's wearing mascara, and muses, "I guess this is goodbye, then."

"Tony, we're going to work. We work in the same building. We are literally going to walk together for another five minutes. How is this goodbye?"

That comment ignites a grin on Tony's face. and he pats Steve on the shoulder, bringing him so close that he can feel Steve's cold breath on his cheeks. He leans in close, and Steve thinks he's going to be kissed, until Tony diverts at the last minute and whispers in his ear, "I just have a flair for the dramatic."

Steve knows he should be angry at Tony for misleading him but he can't help laughing back, and leaning his head on Tony's shoulder as he chuckles loud enough for the whole café to hear. Once he's recovered from that outburst, he lifts his head up and his eyes meet Tony's again. They are too close in that moment, Steve thinks, too close for him to handle. He cups Tony's freezing cold cheeks and smooths down his beard. Tony leans in, eyes darting from Steve's own to his lips, and Steve shuts his eyes tight and braces himself.

Tony's lips don't meet his. Instead, the door opens on them, whacking Steve in the back. He moves away from the source of pain, and away from Tony's grasp too. They turn to the disruption - an elderly woman, hobbling into the café, looking as embarrassed as they were.

"Perhaps standing in the doorway of a busy café wasn't the best idea we've ever had," Steve says sombrely. 

Tony tries to lighten the mood, slapping Steve on the back as they leave the café, "You got that right, kid."

Neither of the men are brave enough to make eye contact on the way to the school, let alone mention their actions. 


	5. it's beginning to look a lot like christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, this is the final chapter and be warned, there is some tooth-rottingly sweet fluff coming up! I just want to thank everyone who's stuck around for their continued support - thank you for all the kudos and comments, I really appreciate them and they're huge motivation for me to write. I originally planned to write a short Christmas fic when I had this idea, and now it has ended up as the biggest fanfiction I've written on this site. I hope you like it, and Merry Christmas!

Tony flung himself into the desk chair, a look of exhaustion clear on his face. Even though it was the last day at Merton, the children were misbehaving twice as much as usual and of course, Tony just _had_ to be the one to deal with it. The dull ring of the bell relaxed him a little bit: it signaled the beginning of lunch, and therefore the beginning of a very sweet nap for Tony.

However, the Gods did not seem to be on his side as he sorted through the mail he’d neglected this morning. Underneath the pile of notices, leaflets and reports was a single, red envelope with the word ‘Tony’ scrawled in cursive. He immediately knew which ones he was throwing straight in the trash and which one he would actually read. The red envelope intrigued him, even more so when he found the card inside that simply read: _art room, lunch break. from your secret santa. x_

So Steve, the only art teacher in the building, was his Secret Santa. The revelation didn't shock him as much as he thought it would - it certainly explained why Steve wanted to spend time with him all of a sudden. Although Tony felt proud that he'd worked it out, he couldn't stop himself from feeling slightly depressed. He'd let himself think that Steve was vying for his attention for a _very_ different reason, and the realization that he was just looking for gift ideas left a somber atmosphere in the room. Tony felt stupid, for reading too much into Steve's actions, for thinking they could be something more than colleagues. He pushed the negative thoughts to the back of his mind as he made his way to Steve's room, and tried to think of some witty retorts to whatever Steve had gotten him.

***

He'd expected a bath set lying about, or some other basic, mass-marketed gift for him. Instead, Steve was sat on one of the desks, biting his nails, red in the face. His posture practically emitted anxiety and Tony longed to be able to comfort him, to rub calming circles in his back and brew him cups of hot cocoa. Steve began to move, pulling him out of his fantasies, and Tony watched as Steve handed him yet another red envelope.

Tony raised an eyebrow but didn't want to question it directly; Steve looked like he was on the verge of exploding, beads of sweat beginning to drip down his forehead. 

He opened the envelope, feeling Steve's eyes burning into his skull. There was another, identical card, in the same handwriting.

_Look up._

Tony despised following instructions. In fact, as the head of the IT department, he went to extreme lengths to disobey the rules that the principal set out for him. However, taking another glance at Steve's clammy appearance, he decided that this could be the one exception. He gave Steve a reassuring grin and looked up at the ceiling, expect another clue that would lead him on a wild goose chase around the school, ending with a mediocre gift and a disappointed Tony. He'd imagined every possible scenario, really. 

Except this one - he looked up and saw a branch of mistletoe clumsily taped to the ceiling. It made him a little breathless: the implication of it, the implication that his feelings were reciprocated, that this man who looked like he'd been hand-carved by the Gods wanted him too. 

Steve took the silence, and Tony's frozen stance as a bad sign and started to apologize profusely, backing away from Tony and into a cupboard. In an effect to rectify his mistake, Tony strode over to Steve, muffling his shouts by bringing his lips to the other man's. It was certainly an effective way to shut Steve up, as he happily complied with Tony's actions, his hands worming their way around Tony's hips. The kiss deepened, and Tony chuckled into it, because he knows they've been the biggest hopeless idiots recently and this - this kiss, is a Christmas miracle in itself. God, this was the stuff Tony dreamed about: Steve's mouth, tasting like vanilla and honeycomb, and his hands making their way up and down Tony's back, the strong stench of sweat on Steve's neck. Tony flicks his tongue against Steve's mouth and it seems to bring the other man back to reality. Steve's unable to move backwards anymore, so instead he resorts to shove Tony off him, wiping the spit off his chin. 

"Tony - we're in an art classroom! If anybody had walked in a moment ago we could have lost our jobs!"

Tony wished he could be more ashamed about that fact, but all he felt was a profound need to bring their lips back together. It took all his strength to turn away from Steve, with a promise to meet up with each other after school. On his way out, he spotted a present with an elaborate ribbon wrapped around it on Steve's desk. Tony couldn't help himself and pointed at it, asking, "who's that from?" 

Steve laughed sheepishly, "Oh, it was actually for you. A plan B in case I had misread things between us. Luckily I didn't need it - it's a bath set."

Tony laughed back, at the sheer absurdity of it, at how useless they both were when it came to love.

"Now, if you'd have told me that first, I would have burned that mistletoe. If there's one thing you need to know about me it's that bath bombs come before everything else." 

"Including sex?" Steve asked, eyebrows raised.

"Don't push me, Rogers." 

***

**EPILOGUE**

There weren't many things in life that angered Steve, but Tony's alarm clock was one of them. Steve was awoke to the sound of Wizzard's 'I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday' blasting at an unholy volume, and groaned. He covered his eyes and nestled himself into the warm body next to him. 

"Tony, please do not make me get up at seven am, I don't care that it's Christmas Day, it's still my day off and I want to sleep."

Tony planted a lazy kiss in Steve's hair and let out an exaggerated gasp, "Steve, you Grinch! I cannot believe you'd be so ignorant to the very holiday that brought us together!"

Steve allowed himself to be dragged out of bed and downstairs by Tony, they sat side by side on the couch, Tony's head on Steve's shoulder. The scene before them was perfect, like something out of a cheap Christmas movie: a warm fireplace littered with snow globes, decorations that Tony had transferred from his classroom to his house, even stockings that Steve had sewn his and Tony's name into. 

Tony lifted his head up and turned to Steve, "I got you a little something. In return for your incredible Secret Santa gift."

Steve shook his head, staring at Tony with wide eyes, like a puppy dog. "Tony," he smiled sadly, "you're too good, you shouldn't have..."

He unwrapped the little gift Tony presented anyway and he couldn't help bursting into laughter.

"Espresso shots?"

"Uhh- I just assumed you knew. This is a pretty terrible way to find out I've been stealing your espresso shots for the past few months."

Steve cracks up again. "I knew, stupid. Hopefully I'll be able to drink these ones." He steals another kiss from Tony, moving so that their faces are inches apart.

"I just wish I'd had time to get you something too."

Tony cups Steve's face in his hands, and Steve can see that his eyes are reddening, "Steve, look around. These decorations are only here because you are. Without you, I'd be alone and so drunk by mid-day I wouldn't be able to stand. It means so much to me to have something to get up for, someone to celebrate with. It's the first time I've lit that fireplace since I moved in, y'know. This place has always been so desolate and you, just being here, it's changed everything..." Tony blinked back tears, smoothing down Steve's hair, "Too much? Sorry, I got a bit carried away there. It feels like we've been together for months, not days." 

Steve rests his forehead against Tony's, whispering in between soft kisses, "Tony, you are beyond incredible and I think I love you."

Tony felt so happy in that moment that he wanted to scream. To run down the streets right now in his pajamas, and scream about how incredibly perfect his life is. Instead, he settles on running his hands through Steve's hair and whispering "I love you" back.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @mandelsons


End file.
